


Target Practice

by SilverWolf3313



Series: The Spider and the Trickster [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint still hates Loki, Gen, Loki antagonizes Clint (because he can), Peter and Clint train, Peter is a smol bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolf3313/pseuds/SilverWolf3313
Summary: Clint takes some time to train Peter. However, it doesn't quite go as planned.





	Target Practice

A serene, blissful silence filled the world. Inhaling deeply, Clint settled deeper into the leather couch, the cushions gently conforming around his body. Moments like this were becoming rarer every day for the assassin-turned Avenger. With three kids, the youngest being only a few months old, Clint was beginning to forget what the wonders of a whole night's sleep felt like. Coupled with the responsibilities of saving the world every other week, he was more exhausted than he cared to admit.

So in moments like this, when the Tower was sparsely inhabited, Clint seized the opportunity to recharge both physically and mentally. Tony was on a business trip (one he couldn’t weasel out of, much to his chagrin), Natasha was on a mission (in a completely classified location, as she had told him the night before), and Steve was at his apartment, helping Bucky calm down after an especially distressing panic attack earlier that morning. Bruce was most likely in one of the labs in the upper levels, working on a new project. Thor was here too, somewhere, with his silver-tongued brother.

His muscles constricted with unexpected force. Clint breathed heavily, the air catching in his chest. Even months later, after weeks with a SHIELD assigned therapist, any thought or mention of Loki still managed to set Clint on the edge of internal combustion. The god’s conniving gaze set Clint’s teeth on edge, and the archer could not stand to be in the same room as him.

Swallowing hard, Clint walked himself through his breathing techniques, listening to the slowing beats of his heart. Thoughts of Loki faded back into the dark corners of his mind, the light fingers of sleep weaving themselves behind his eyelids.

Sighing contentedly, he turned down his hearing aids, the ambient noise lowering in volume. The glorious edge of a deep sleep was at the cusp of Clint's mind, luring him in. Just as the sleep was about to take hold of him.

_Poke._

Clint sniffed, absently brushing the irritant away from his nose.

_Poke. Poke._

Clint squinted, opening his eyes as little as possible. A breath of air ghosted across his face, followed by another poke. Reacting quickly, Clint’s hand shot upright, grasping the offending wrist. “Stop. Poking. Me,” he growled, sending his best death glare towards his tormentor.

Peter sheepishly grinned as his face flushed. “Sorry.” He glanced down at the hand encasing his wrist. “Can...can I have my hand back?”

Clint smirked as he turned up his aids, the last dredges of sleep dissipating from his mind. “Depends. What do you need that is so important that you ruined my nap?”

“I...um…was...well...since no one else is in the Tower, and I’m kinda bored in the lab…”  
Clint gently shook Peter’s wrist. “Spit it out, Web-Head.”

“Can you teach me how to shoot?”

Clint’s pale eyebrows raised, twinges of surprise filling his chest. “You wanna shoot...a gun?”

“No! No, I meant a bow!” Peter exclaimed, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

Amusement overtook Clint as he laughed at the floundering teen. He released Peter’s wrist and rose from the couch. Clasping his fingers together, he stretched his arms over his shoulders, letting out a contented sigh as his shoulders and spine popped. “Why do you need to learn how to shoot a bow? Don’t you have your web-thingies?”

“Web shooters,” Peter corrected. “And...I don’t know...I thought I’d just try it out. For a worst-case scenario.”

 _Hmm..._ Clint thought to himself. “But why the bow?”

Peter’s fingers twisted together, turning his gaze away from Clint. “I don’t like guns,” was all he supplied.

Clint pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest. His mind whirled as his memory supplied the information he had read on Peter’s file and Stark’s accompanying words. ‘ _The kid lost his uncle via a shooting. It’s taking a bit, but he’s getting over his intense dislike of guns.’ At that, he had peered at each Avenger. ‘Don’t push him. Underoos is still raw about it.’_

After a few moments of silence, he shrugged, drawing Peter’s attention. “Fair enough. Don’t need to tell me twice.” He placed a hand on Peter’s head, ruffling the kid’s hair. “C’mon, kid,” he stated, placing an arm over Peter’s shoulder, leading him towards the elevator. “Let’s see if you can actually hit the target…”  
Peter spluttered, his retort lost. 

* * *

"Breathe, Peter."

An exhale of trapped air eased itself from Peter's chest.

"Don't tense. Allow your body to relax slightly, but not all the way."

Peter uncoiled his muscles, his back losing some of the aches that had taken residence. "Good. Now, focus on your target. Both eyes open, not one. When you're ready, take a breath, hold it, and release the arrow on the exhale."

Turning his sights towards the end of the range, Peter inhaled through the nose. _In and out. Just like Clint said._ His fingers moved a fraction.

_Thwip._

_Thunk._

The arrow sunk deep into the red, barely missing the black bulls-eye. "Dammit," huffed the young man, lowering his bow. A hand clapped his shoulder, giving it a slight shake. "Not too shabby, kid."

"Easy for you to say," Peter groaned.

Clint chuckled, chest puffing out slightly. "Just because I'm the world's best archer, you think I was able to get a bulls-eye the first time I picked up a bow?"

Brown eyes rolled in their sockets. This is what he got for asking to be properly trained. After weeks and weeks of mustering up the courage, he had blurted out his desire to be trained like an Avenger. Of course, he had decided to ask when he and Tony were elbow-deep in an engine. Tony stared at him bemusedly, wrench in hand, nodded and said he should just ask anyone on the team. _‘They’ll be more than pleased to help you, Pete.’_

“I wouldn’t exactly call you ‘the world’s best archer,’” Peter began.

He let out an amused chuckle as Clint lightly smacked the back of his head. “Keep practicing, kid. Maybe someday you’ll be a fraction of the man and archer I am.”

Peter snorted. “I should hope not. I don’t want to be as short. Or as scrawny.”

Clint gasped, his mouth wide enough to catch flies. His nostrils flared with annoyance. “Alright, spider-child. You just bought yourself fifteen laps. Let’s go!”

“What!? Clint!”

The blond archer wasn’t swayed. “Nope. When you’re gonna be mean, you gotta pay the price. “

 _How hypocritical_ , Peter thought to himself. But he bit his lip and jogged to the weapon’s rack. Twisting the bow around, he slid it into its designated slot. Fingers clasped the velcro on his arm guard, the scrape of the adhesive fabric peeled from each other. As he slipped the fingertip guards off, his spine stiffened. It was as if someone had breathed on his neck, causing the tiny hairs to raise. Clint, standing next to him, noticed his young trainee’s discomfort. “What’s going on, Webs?”

Peter shrugged. They were in the Tower, which was totally secure. No alarm had been tripped, and no one had called in on the comms. “I’m not sure,” the teen murmured, eyes scanning the peripherals. The initial shock had dissipated, but the pins and needles continued to cascade down his spine into his limbs.

Clint opened his mouth to release some quip but stilled. Subtly raising his hand, he turned his aids up, narrowing his eyes as the input increased. There was a moment of silence. Suddenly, as the sensation in Peter’s spine increased tenfold, Clint’s eyes widened. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he unhooked his compact bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow in the same motion. As he completed the turn, the bowstring twanged quietly, the arrow flying towards the threat. A new arrow immediately took the other’s place, the deadly metal shining in the artificial lighting.

The dull chink of the metallic barb embedding itself in the doorframe echoed throughout the room. “What the hell are you doing here?” Peter turned at the venomous snarl. Never before had he seen Clint so furious. Even when he got pissed during a mission, or when he was losing horribly on game night, he had never been so close to killing someone as he was at that moment. But when his mind fully registered the threat, his confusion cleared like the sky after a storm.

“It seems I have interrupted something,” a stolid voice purred. Donned in a simple long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of sweatpants a few sizes too big, the god stared at the two heroes, his eyes glittering with amusement. Peter remained mute, his brain unable to comprehend the sight before him. Loki almost looked….normal. Or about as close to normal as you could get as a god whose whims and allegiances switched at the drop of a hat.

His thin hand rested on the protruding arrow shaft, which had effectively pinned his shirt to the wall. Any lower, and Loki’s shoulder would be flush against the wall, skewered not just by fabric. Clint’s lips thinned, tension radiating off him like the sun. “I see your aim has only improved in these past few months, Agent Barton,” Loki praised, coyly inspecting his fingernails.

Teeth flashed in the light as Clint’s fuse shortened. “Apparently not enough.”

Peter shivered, goosebumps covering his arms. Even though he had known the archer for some time now, he had only heard snippets about Clint’s past encounter with Loki. He had asked his teammates about the event, but most of them had kept their mouths shut, telling Peter to ask Clint himself.

Taking his mentors’ advice, he finally asked Clint, stumbling over his words in his nervousness. However, he was so horrified at how hollow and traumatized Clint had looked that Peter frantically tried to backpedal, blabbering out lame excuses. Thankfully, Clint thinly smiled and reassured the worried teen that he was fine. However, Clint was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the night.

Loki’s eyes turned to the young hero standing behind Clint. “Hello, spider-child,” he hummed. His eyes flared with mischief as Clint sidestepped, effectively shielding Peter from the god. “Calm down, Barton. I have no intentions of harming your little spider.”

“Yeah, sorry if I don’t believe you,” Clint growled, his grip tightening on the bow.

“How rude,” Loki sniffed. His hand rested on the shaft but had made no other move. “I merely came to investigate the racket and I am pinned like an insect to a board for my trouble.”

“I’d say it’s the least of your concerns at the moment,” the archer hissed. Peter stiffened, the anger radiating off of his companion in waves.

“Clint,” he began to say, taking a step forward.

“Peter, please be quiet right now,” Clint chided sternly, but not unkindly.

“Yes, child. The adults are talking,” Loki added, lips upturning in a tiny smirk as Peter’s face reddened with embarrassment.

“Well, since we’re talking, I want to tell you one thing. Get the hell out.” Clint’s voice was deadly serious, and Peter knew he would not hesitate to shoot at Loki again. And the next time, he wouldn’t hold back.

“Your manners never cease to amaze me, Barton,” said the dark-haired god. When Clint remained silent, Loki sighed heavily, turning to the arrow. His eyes snapped back to Clint as the bowstring creaked as it was tightened. “Am I allowed to free myself, or will I have to suffer the indignation of you cutting me free?”

Clint’s silence was an adequate enough answer for the trickster. With a lethal calm, he broke the shaft, the quiet splinter deafening to Peter’s sensitive ears. Smoothly removing his sweater from the arrow, he brushed his hands together, wiping away imaginary dust. “Well, that was quite the event.” Snapping his fingers together, Peter watched in amazement as the sizable hole in Loki’s shirt mended itself, any evidence of its destruction wiped away.

Putting his back to the two heroes, he strode from the room, lazily waving a hand over his shoulder. “Let’s do it again, sometime, shall we?” he teased, the tips of his hair disappearing behind the doorway.

The two remaining men were dumbstruck. Clint had not lowered his bow, his body taut and ready to snap. Peter, sensing Clint’s fellow confusion, decided to do what he did best. Make jokes in uncomfortable situations. “Geez, he can’t stay out of my life. I swear, he stalks me more than my Twitter followers.”

Almost imperceptibly, Clint began to uncoil. Lowering his bow, he turned to Peter. His eyes had a distant look in them, but he still looked focused. “Uh, you wanna...talk about it?” Peter questioned, wilting slightly as Clint slowly shook his head.

“We’re all done for today, Webs.” He sheathed the arrow back in its quiver, shortly followed by his bow. Without another word, he turned to leave. Just before he left, he paused, peeking at Peter over his shoulder. “Training starts at 5:00 a.m. Don’t be late.”

Peter nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there!” As Clint faced the hallway, Peter pumped his fist, quietly hissing, “Yes!”

He didn’t see the smile on Clint’s lips as the archer left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, this came into my head a little while back, but it took some fighting to actually get it written down. I hope you enjoyed it, and expect more stories with Peter and the other Avengers sometime in the future. If you have any requests or questions, feel free to leave a comment, and I'll get back to you ASAP. :)  
> Thanks again! Until next time!


End file.
